Logicality: Sequel to Little Details
by Castle Solo
Summary: Liv has been left to her own devices. What will she do when Holmes and Watson return with some more news and evidence in the murder investigation into the Baron's death?
1. Chapter 1: Agressive Disagreements

Hello once again! I finally finished this first part of book two in the "Little Details" saga. Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is simply a figment of my imagination fiddling around in the Sherlock Holmes sandbox. Hopefully the next part will be posted within a month or so. Enjoy.

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**Logicality: Sequel to "Little Details"**

Rolling over, I looked at the face of a man I had wished so hard I could wake up next to. I couldn't help but smile as I made eye contact with him. His calm face seemed devoid of drowsiness, like he'd been up watching me for hours. A new shadow of a beard covered his chin. His smile was slow and gradual, but it built up to a great climax.

"Good morning, sleepy."

"Good morning to you." I let my eyes wander down his bare chest. I swear the man was thicker than a seven hour door. He pulled in closer to me.

"I love you." He whispered as he played with my loose curls. With a serious look on my face I look him in the eye.

"I know," I mustered up the best throaty deep voice I could. We both cracked up, trying to stay quiet even though I don't know why. Suddenly he was on top of me, leaning over my neck and moving in to kiss me. It was just as how I'd pictured it. In fact, it was much better.

He disappeared. Instead of making contact with my lips he was gone. I opened my real eyes and found myself staring at the overhead canopy covering my bed. I let out a disheartened sigh as I closed my eyes slowly again. Cold tears lingered on my cheeks as I reached up to rub my eyes. Memories of reality came flooding back. At least, this was my reality now. I don't know what happened or how, but so far I think I am stuck here.

Four weeks. That was how long it had been. Four long weeks since Holmes had left me here. I sat up in bed as I brooded over the fact that today was the one month anniversary of his abandonment. In those four weeks I have been bored out of my mind. It has been a version of hell for me. Another version would be strapping me to a seat, holding my eyes open with toothpicks and forcing me to watch every bad movie ever made and thank goodness no bad movies have been made yet. Although, one good thing has come of my imprisonment: I have become very well acquainted with the library. During the first week I got bored of my mother's incessant talking and gossip, and my father wasn't home much. It was the pre race season, Mum said. Did I just call her Mum? Oh boy.

The library was full of dusty old books that I doubt anyone has touched in years. I discovered many books on horse breeding, horse racing, horse weaning, and everything else a horse can do. I think I can now call myself an amateur expert on the subject of horses. But even those got boring so I moved on down the line. I think the reading kept me sane because I couldn't even go outside. The weather had decided it wanted to be as dreary as it could just to annoy me. I used to love the rain, and then I started to hate the rain, now I am simply indifferent to it.

In bed I felt the warmth of the down comforter on my legs and didn't want to move, but then again I did. I needed to move, to do something. I stood up and stretched, feeling the creaks and aches of my body aligning them selves. My robe hung from a peg near my bed. Snatching it, I pulled it over my nightgown. With a gentle hum, I walked over and opened up the curtains to my room. The sky outside was a nasty shade of purple. I saw the lightning before I heard the resounding thunder clap follow closely behind. I haven't seen a storm this big yet so we'll have to see what it does. A steady rain pelted my window. The swirling clouds matched my mood very well.

A few hours later I found myself raiding the library once again. I came across a first edition copy of David Copperfield. Even though it was published a couple of decades before what I believed to be the time I was in, this book was fresh and new. Probably one of the first compilations of the monthly serial it was first published as. I opened up the leather bound book and heard it crack as the binding popped open. Never been opened? Come on, this is David Copperfield. I thought everyone read these things. When Harry Potter first came out it was difficult to find a never before opened copy, except for maybe at the bookstore after a new shipment. Today, I chose to sit by the window so I could watch the progress of the approaching storm. I had grabbed an apple at breakfast and now pulled it out as I cuddled up to the window to read.

The window I sat at was peculiar in shape. It was perfectly round, with round glass, round trimmings, and even rounded panes. It reminded me of a hobbit hole from the Lord of the Rings movies. But it made a very comfortable seat for me. I leaned back on my head and closed my eyes for a minute as I took in a whiff of the fresh, rainy, scent. A pillow of barely kempt curls surrounded my head. I had gotten sick the first day trying to replicate the hairstyle I had first awakened in, but to no avail. Giving up, I found I was very good and using the oriental hair sticks that were on display in my room. Nobody would notice and I figured I'd put them to use. What I wouldn't give for a rubber hair tie. Anyways, I had loosely braided my hair, but the layers made it impossible for me to get it all in. So I had many stray curls invading my face. I didn't care though. Opening my eyes, I opened up the book and began to read.

Mother and Father had left yesterday for a holiday in… did I just say holiday? I mean a vacation in Paris where Father wanted to meet with some old colleagues of his. So I pretty much had this gloomy place to myself, well, except for the servants. I decided I'd do some more exploring of the estate, but later. Maybe while I ate lunch. For now, I was content.

I don't remember what time it was. I'd heard the clock strike somewhere off in the distance but didn't count. I got to a stopping point in the story and looked about. The clock on the fireplace mantle read 1:30. Holy crap, how is it I can waste so much time and not think of it. Stretching my arms and legs I looked out the window again and saw the rain had stopped. I also noticed the approach of a hansom cab, the horse drawn kind. Unconsciously, I began pressing my nose up against the cold glass, trying to get a closer look at the visitor. The window had a terrible view of the front door, since the door seemed like two miles away from this side of the house. Squinting, I watched as the cab pulled up to the door and discharge its patron. Fear ripped through my heart as I saw a black clad figure stride purposefully up to the door. Quickly, I turned away from the window, feeling my breath speed up and nearly pant. I closed the book, hurried to the door and dashed back to my room.

Oh dear Lord above they're here to kill me. They're going to snap my neck or even worse have some fun before killing me. I hurried into my closet and shut the door. In the pitch black I began to form a plan. Escapes? Ha ha, no I just sealed myself into a corner. I swore under my breath. Weapons? Do these hair sticks count? Who am I kidding? Well, I guess there are some high heeled shoes somewhere in the closet. I held my hands out and began feeling around the ground for the shoe rack I knew was somewhere around there. Aha! Success! I grasped the shoe tightly, quietly cackling to myself.

Suddenly, there were footsteps, in my room. The refined click-clack of polished shoes seemed to echo in my ears. I stood up, pressing my back against the closet wall as I tried to assimilate it. For some reason, that didn't work. In the small sliver of light pooling beneath the door I saw two shadows cross it, then stop in front of it. The old brass door handle jiggled as it turned. Taking a deep breath I poised the heel to strike. I didn't think of what to do after I hit the person, I just knew that I needed to cause injury in some way. The door opened up slowly. Like a banshee, I yelled and began to attack. My swinging arm was blocked expertly, held in place just above the man's nose. I couldn't help but gasp.

"It's good to see you again, too, Miss Olivia." He spoke evenly, thoughtfully, and didn't even flinch. Holmes stood there, towering above me and smiling. I let out a huge sigh of relief and relaxed.

"It's just you." I couldn't tell him how relieved I was. "Goodness, you gave me a fright." Holmes lowered my arm, giving control back to me.

"So were hoping to incapacitate me with a shoe?" He asked, looking at my improvised weapon. I looked at it myself, realizing my foolishness.

"It was worth a try." I tried to excuse myself. Holmes just chuckled. I looked up into his warm eyes, the sparkling mirth and wonderment alive and well just as when I last saw him. I could honestly say I was glad to see him.

"You are well, no?" I asked. Where did that kind of grammar come from?

"Ah yes, yes, and you?" He asked cordially.

"Fine, thank you. Would you mind telling me why you're here now then?" I asked. Holmes offered me and arm, which I took, and pulled me out of the darkened closet.

"Let us take a turn about the grounds, shall we?" I inwardly shrugged, whatever dude. Its pouring rain, there is actual lightning (which I was beginning to believe didn't exist in this place), and there's a chance someone is out to kill me, sure let's go for a walk.

We walked down the stairs, through the ballroom and past the sitting room to get to the back doors. I could see the rain drizzling down, not hard any more but still noticeable. As we walked I was approached by a maid who seemed surprised to see me.

"Oh, Miss Castillo, you have a visitor. I thought you were out at the stables so I sent him there. I am terribly sorry." The maid hung her head.

"Its quite all right. Thank you." I nodded to her to tell her she could go. Turning to Holmes I saw a look of contemplation.

"Should we go?" I asked.

"The situation is precarious." He replied cryptically. I suddenly noticed how warm he felt, was there a window open somewhere?

"He could be someone dangerous." I supplied.

"Let's go," Holmes started out. Walking along I thought of the oddity of Mr. Holmes reasoning.

"It could be a trap." I added.

"All the more reason to go." He looked at me mischievously. I shook my head. Was I meant to be tethered to this man for the rest of this unnatural life?

Walking through the rain was actually enjoyable. Holmes inquired as to my stay and how I was faring back in my parents' home. I then asked about what he was up to. He'd been working on the case feverishly actually. And here I thought he'd just forgotten about me. He had actually learned a great deal about the Maria Conspiracy and how it was an uncanny fit to my life apparently. Of course, through this all he couldn't explain to me what the Conspiracy was. No, that would be too simple.

Arriving at the stables, I hesitated by the door. Holmes came up behind me.

"Is everything all right?"

"Oh… I-I just, well I'm a little frightened if I may say." Holmes just chuckled. Taking my hand he put it on the doorknob. His touch was firm and tight, but still gentle.

"You never know anything until you open your eyes, or in this case the door." He turned the handle and the door opened up. Walking in, it was the normal cacophony of horses and their vocalizations. Pacing back and forth down the stalls was a tall man. I almost laughed out loud in relief.

"Why Mr. Watson, what are you doing?" I called to him. He spun around quickly, startled I'm sure. A look of relief coursed over his features. He looked a bit careworn, slightly more tired than usual but, hey he's a doctor. What doctor is ever well rested? I approached him with open arms. We embraced and I did the usual European greeting by kissing each cheek. Holmes gave him the traditional handshake.

"It's a pleasure to see you again. Why on Earth did you not come sooner?" I asked. All of a sudden Watson's face lit up, he was filled with some sort of ethereal light I can't really explain in English, maybe if I knew Sanskrit or something like that possibly. I could tell he was bursting to tell us something, and I had an inkling I knew what it was.

"I'm glad you're both here because I have some wonderful news."

"Really? Pray tell." I pressed.

"I am, I mean we are… Mary is having a child." He exclaimed. I saw Holmes start to say something.

"Yes, we-," I suddenly kicked him in the leg to shut him up.

"Really? This is wonderful news Mr. Watson, I am so happy for you. How far along is she?" I asked.

"About four or five months. I can't believe I didn't catch it sooner. I felt a bit of a fool actually." I laughed.

"We should celebrate at once. What do you say to dinner tonight? For both you and Mary?" Watson smiled genuinely.

"We would like that very much, thank you." Watson accepted gratefully. Holmes piped up.

"Might I be invited too? I do like a good wine if we should be so lucky as to open a bottle." I turned to him, looking up into his eyes.

"Well, I do not know. I mean one can't be too careful in planning dinner parties. Not to mention your unprecedented stubbornness and refusal to uphold the usual standards of social conduct or otherwise personal conduct. It could be a liability to my family name." I said teasingly.

"So I will take that as an approval?" He asked.

"Yes, you may come. But only on the condition that you behave yourself."

"Oh, but misbehaving brings out natural behavior in all that are in contact with it."

"I can still retract that invitation, I will have you know." I taunted.

"Oh all right, I shall consent to keeping myself orderly for your sake." I couldn't help but smile at Holmes intellect and reasoning. I looked back over to Watson who seemed to think that this was amusing. The suppressed smile suggested more than just pure amusement though. I felt my eyes narrow slightly, but quickly shook off the feeling.

"Well there must be something else you're here to tell, am I correct?" I asked, changing the subject a bit.

"Actually, I did have some information for you about the autopsy of your husband." I felt a knot suddenly harden in my stomach. It seemed over to past four weeks I had fallen in love with my husband. Too bad he was already dead.

"Really? Let us go inside where we can talk more." Watson looked confused at my invitation.

"But I need to inform my wife of your gracious dinner invitation? It takes a little while to get here from my home you know." I thought about this. Too bad I didn't have anyone to go and run a ride over. Wait a second, I'm a Baroness. I have whatever I want!

"Here's what I'll do. I shall send a carriage back to your home with a note from you to your wife explaining. The driver will bring her back here, ready for dinner. Meanwhile, we will have a chance to speak of our interests undisturbed for some time. My father and mother have gone and the servants leave well enough alone. We should be all right in the library." Watson's face filled with relief and ease.

"Thank you very much, Your Grace, but I really am not dressed for such an occasion."

"Neither I, Baroness," Holmes added. I felt my lips purse. They did have a point. Not that I cared about what he wore to dinner, heck if I could I'd wear my night gown to dinner if not for propriety. But for the sake of keeping proper I had to think of something. An idea popped into my head, a rather ingenious one if I do say so. I began to walk around Watson, eyeing his height, girth, and width. Yes, it could work. Looking at Holmes it was a little more complicated but it could work as well, he was slightly shorter, but none the less manageable.

"What's she doing?" I heard Watson whisper to Holmes.

"Judging by the practiced eye and calm intake of breath, I'd say she is inspecting."

"I can hear you, you know." I tell them both.

"Well then… er, could you let us know what you are up to?" Watson asked uncomfortably. I suddenly realized what this looked like. I laughed out loud at myself then walked around to face Watson.

"Have no fear, my dearest Watson, your wife may still have you. You on the other hand," I turned to Holmes and jabbed a finger at him. "you… well I just don't believe you could keep one woman in your life long enough to know the meaning of affection."

"Are you implying I do not know love?" Holmes defended himself casually. I took a step toward him.

"I am implying that you simply would not know what to do when such an emotion encountered you. With your observations, your keen inferences, you could mistake such affection as something scientific. Which it in no way is." He stepped closer to me, as if to drive his next point home. I stood my ground, which he seemed only slightly surprised at.

"Why, Baroness, it would appear that you yourself after being bitten and mutilated by love are still a hopeless romantic, waiting for your white knight to come and sweep you off your feet," he made a sweeping motion now with his hands, "and carry you up the stairs to the highest room in the tallest tower of your castle." His words began to have some bite. Ooh the nerve he had. "Tell me you don't find it hard to love after having your own heart torn out and castrated with the loss." He was now inches from my face.

"Whoever said I didn't heal?" I spat back. He was taken aback at my boldness. Serves him right. No one insults me like that. Not after what happened with me and J.T. nor the Baron for that matter. The silence grew as we both stared at each other for a bit, daring the other to speak and insult the other. The heated spell was broken when Watson cleared his throat.

"So… what of the coach?"

We headed out to the door to find it pouring rain again. Perfect, just brilliant. Thank you Rain Gods, really appreciate getting all wet before a dinner party.

"Well, I guess we'll make a run for it." I conceded to the weather. Watson took a look. With a consenting grunt, he looked to Holmes only to watch him flash by as he dashed between the two of them out into the rain. With a mad yippee he crashed down the path and stood in the rain, taking it all in. I looked at Watson, puzzled.

"Is this-,"

"Yes, its not unlikely." He offered me his arm. I looked at it dubiously.

"Are you sure Mary would approve? I would hate to begin a quarrel."

"She would have my hide if I didn't escort you through this dreadful downpour." I shrugged and took his arm anyway. Might as well capitalize on the chivalry, not like I'm going to get it back home.

Home.

Ow, that really stung. A painful thought hit me, it had been recurring for a while now. I don't know how to get home. The sinking despair began to worm its way into my mind. No, I had to tell myself, I will figure out how to get home and I will stick with it. We walked to Holmes. Even though the rain was icy cold, it did have an invigorating sensation. I suddenly had the strangest urge to join Holmes in his rain dance.

"Holmes, come along." Watson called over the rain. He wasn't listening of course. In fact, he started to run around a bit more. I think Watson should realize the inverse relationship he had with Holmes and use it to his advantage. Tell him something and he will do the opposite. Well, he could be obedient in some form. We leveled with Holmes and the jerk, the lowest absolute cad, stuck out his foot. All too soon my cleverly booted foot was caught and someone might as well have yelled "Timber!"

Splash! I soon found myself with a mouthful of mud. Turning over I saw Watson's stunned expression. Holmes on the other hand was failing at concealing his mirth. I stared daggers into him. Ooh, I really hate that guy! He turned away for a moment to hide his laughter and I capitalized on it. I scooped up the biggest hunk of mud I could get my grubby little hands on and when he turned back I hucked it at his face. With a satisfying splat I heard my projectile hit its mark. It was Holmes' turn to look stunned and Watson's turn to laugh. He quickly bent down, scooped up some particularly nasty muck and hurled it with accuracy at Watson's finely trimmed suit. Was that a look of vengeance I saw? Let the games begin!

"Take that!" I yelled as I rolled into Holmes' legs, pushing him backside first into the mud. On top of that Watson was screaming profanities at Holmes for dirtying his suit, while pelting him with a number of mud balls. I threw my head back and laughed, letting the rain cleanse my face. For a good fifteen minutes each of us were tossing, ducking, blocking, and chasing each other. If anyone had seen us they'd have thought we were five years old. Hey, I'll take that as a compliment.

"I… give up." I panted as I finally collapsed on the already collapsed Holmes. Watson came out on top, holding two particularly large balls of more than mud over our heads.

"Surrender," Holmes wheezed out as he coughed up rain that had fallen down his throat. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. The rhythmic timing of his hastened breathing was calming. Watson threw the two mud balls back at the pasture and looked at us laughing. He sat down next to us.

"Well, that was refreshing. I don't think you could provide a bath for us though, could you?" He asked.

"Is the Pope Catholic?" I asked sarcastically. Both men looked at me funny. Ah, I did it again. I meant to say yes but my twenty first century colloquial tongue got the better of me.

"What I mean is yes, I will have a bath drawn for the three of us." Watson suddenly had another uncomfortable look. "I-I mean three separate baths for us. Not all together. I…," I'm going to shut up now, that's what. Holmes was quite amused.

Twenty minutes and a whole bunch of BS explanations later found the three of us in the washroom where the visitors usually use. There were six tubs in all. I had insisted on bathing in the same room as the men so we could speak, but again I had propriety to look for so I had the servants draw a curtain around my tub. I had to get in first. It felt really good to peel off that dress I'd been wearing which was now crusted with mud and grasses. Using a towel I tried to get off as much mud as I could before getting in. My ladies maid made sure I was settled before sending for the men. I tried to plug my ears and not think about the two exceedingly attractive men undressing on the other side of a flimsy yet lavish curtain. Once they'd settled in as well I asked the ladies maid to leave us and shut the door.

"Now then, Watson, what is this about the autopsy?" I asked.

"It seemed to be a run of the mill suicide; note left in the victim's writing, gun held in right hand up to head-," Something caught in my mind. Over these last few weeks I'd started to have these flickers of memory come back to me. Many about the Baron. One of the memories was our wedding night. Wow, that was an amazing sight. Oh- I-I well anyways, and in all of them, I knew he was left handed.

"That can't be right, are you sure it said the gun was in his right hand?" I asked.

"What? No, it specifically said it was in the right hand." Oh, I'd seen enough Castle to know this one. The old murder-made-to-look-like-suicide ploy, yet it seems they always messed up. You'd think murderers would learn to kill properly.

"No, the Baron was left handed."

"Why didn't you come forward with this before?" Holmes asked. I had to think about that a moment and then remembered.

"I was not home when they found him and when I did get home they had already cleared the body as well as the evidence and took them to the police." I heard an audible "Ah" come from Holmes but nothing more.

"What else? Anything peculiar?" I asked, subconsciously popping all the bubbles in the tub.

"Well yes, this is the reason I came. I inspected the photographs of the bruising on his side and back and though the coroner described them as being results of him falling after he pulled… he died. But when I looked at them I did not think it quite matched up with his surroundings."

"Go on," I pleaded, hanging on his every word.

"The bruises were typical of a collision with an arm of a chair or gilded edge of a table, but I did find a peculiar round shape near one of the three bruises."

"Do you have the photographs?" I asked, desperate for evidence.

"If they weren't ruined by the mud, yes." I could almost hear Watson shooting a dirty look at Holmes who would be playing in his bath water casually. A splashing of water indicated Watson getting out and getting something. Through the curtain came Holmes' hand, bearing a large envelope. I opened it up and looked inside, almost afraid of what I would see. Careful not to get water on them, I pulled each one out slowly. I finally got to the pictures of the bruises. Yep, from first glance they did look like contusions made from a collision, but as I looked at the photograph I noticed the strange bruising pattern in oblong ovals with one perfectly circular red area.

"A fist!" I breathed out.

"What was that?" Holmes asked.

"The bruises are from a fist. I've seen hundreds of these, used to get a couple of them myself back in my days in the Navy."

"You what?" Watson asked, flabbergasted. Crap! Uh... shoot, how do I get out of this one?

"Only kidding about. I have seen these before. There's no mistaking it. So if there was physical abuse then this was a homicide."

"Not necessarily." Watson cautioned. It took his gentle prod to bring me back to the reality of things. Procedures, I hate them.

"There could be the argument that the bruises were caused before the death and not because of it." Holmes added. Why can't anyone stay on my side for two minutes? Pulling the curtain around me I poked my head out.

"Are you suggesting, Mr. Holmes, that my husband did indeed kill himself?"

"Not at all, Madame." Holmes countered. "It's called Devil's Advocate." I shrugged then retreated back into my curtain.

"So if this were pre-mortem, then this ring here could be the identifying factor in our case."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a moment. 'Our' case? Since when have you become a part of the investigation team?" Holmes asked. Men.

"Since I married the victim. And if you want to try to get rid of me, go ahead, but I warn you I am trained in ways you couldn't possibly imagine." There. That should leave a bit of a sting.

"You might as well, Holmes. She'll only get in the way otherwise." Watson reasoned.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, do listen to dear Watson." I pleaded.

"Well it would seem I am outnumbered in every sense of the word. But you must do exactly as I say when I say it. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir." I stated. How is it that my stubbornness always turns out to benefit me at times like these?

"Thank you, Anna. You may go." I told my maid as she finished pinning up my hair. After a good half hour me getting ready, I was now decent and ready for dinner. I had gotten out earlier than the men. My guess is they wanted to discuss a few things behind my back. Fine, let them have their secrets. I smoothed my powder blue skirt out as I admired myself in the mirror. I was incredibly surprised at how small my waist could get when properly encouraged. Although, the corset is not my favorite part of the whole experience. The dark blue ribbons adorned my sleeves and the hem of my skirt. I liked this dress. A lot.

Now, to see how the men were fitting into their new weeds. I began to walk off in their general direction. The click-click of my softened high heels was a relief to the silence that usually enveloped the hallways when Father was away. I must say, I had grown to appreciate Papa Beckett in these past few weeks. I had grown attached to certain parts of this new life. But I couldn't shake the attachments to my old life either. I flashed back to my dream this morning of J.T., his golden skin and tousled dark hair, I felt that old familiar pain work its way into the pit of my stomach and twist slowly. No matter what I did I couldn't shake the homesickness.

Subconsciously, my feet carried me to the door to the room which I had lent to Holmes and Watson as they prepared for dinner. Upon approaching I began to hear snippets of their conversation through the thin walls. I slowed my steps and couldn't help but creep up and listen in.

"Why did you take _her_ side on the matter?" Holmes was accusing.

"Why do I take sides in any matter? Because it's logical. Why are you so against her being a part of this case?" Watson replied.

"For one thing, she is a woman."

"Oh for the love of the holy land, don't start that. Not again. This whole business about the unscrupulous motives of a woman has got to end. Look at Mary. Does she seem like she has unscrupulous motives?" There was a slight pause. "Never mind, don't answer that."

"She has had her way with you. And now she is carrying your child, so this can only mean-,"

"Holmes, would you please stop reading into things that are purely nature? So the Baroness is a woman. Does that impede her knowledge of the victim as well as insight into the murder?"

"She's emotional." Holmes countered. Oh! I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from giving an indignant curse.

"She's headstrong, not emotional. There's a difference. Emotional is Mary right now." That made me kind of giggle. Ah, hormones.

"She too attached to the case." Holmes stated.

"Holmes, her attachment is the key to the entire case. Without her, we know nothing about the background. We need all the information we can get. It always was you who said data is everything." There was another slight pause. I was about to knock when Watson spoke up again. I hunkered down to pay attention.

"Do you want to know what I think?" Watson asked.

"Not really." Holmes said. I heard some carpeted footsteps inside but nothing more.

"I think that you are somehow attracted to her and don't want her to be there by your side all the time."

"Thank you, Watson, for your kind insight," Holmes said sarcastically, "but I think that's enough therapy for today." Watson gasped.

"You do like her! Ha! You have so much as admitted it!" Watson said triumphantly.

"What on Earth are you babbling on about?"

"Oh come now, Holmes, Adler is a girl of the past. Someday, you're going to have to come back out of that grotesque cave you've moved into and find out there's more to life." Holmes tried to interject but Watson continued. "I think you've caught your first glimpse of the outside world again."

"Watson, I really don't believe this. You are actually implying that I am falling for what you would refer to as the fairer sex? I pledged never to let a woman interfere with my life again. I am afraid I am a man of my word."

"Since when?" Watson cut in.

"Since I decided to be."

"Well then I shall be on the look out for when you do."

"Watson, do you take pleasure in insulting me?"

"Do you take pleasure in knowing you disrupted Mary and me at two in the morning when you discovered musical theory works on arachnids as well as insects?" Holmes was silent for a moment. They both were actually.

"Well, she is quite a sight for sore eyes such as your own. She's beautiful."

"This coming from a married man. I am telling Mary tonight." Holmes quickly accused. He was acting like a seven year old.

"I meant she is a good person. Don't you agree that she's quite pleasant to look at?"

"Bearable, I guess." What? Excuse me? I never thought myself incredibly beautiful, but at least decent! Oh he has wounded my pride, this means war. "Nothing in her appearance is of great interest to me. How you found Mary attractive is quite beyond me."

"Why I oughtta-," I heard heavy footsteps now.

"She has become more beautiful through time though." Holmes amended. "You are a lucky man, Watson."

"Thank you." Watson said a bit awkwardly. I chose this time to knock.

"Come in," Watson called. Opening the door I stepped in and took a look at the two men. Watson was dressed fabulously with his suit fitting well except for around the shoulders. The Baron had had nice and sturdy shoulders to hold and carry me… where was I? Holmes on the other hand, needed a little help in getting dressed.

"Good evening, gentlemen." I curtsied with a smile. Watson returned it with ease, but I noticed Holmes was a bit moodier.

"How are the suits fitting?" I asked.

"I must say I have never worn something so expensively comfortable before." Watson replied. Holmes was quiet as he tried to tie the middle bit of the suit (don't know what they called them back then) but he was failing miserably.

"Here, let me help you." I walked over, stood Holmes up straight, put his coat on the chair and began to tie and secure the ribbon ties. My fingers brushed his back, even through the crisply starched shirt I felt how warm his skin was. I was reminded of J.T. again. Why did this always happen at the most inopportune moments?

"There," I finished tying it up, and moved to face Holmes. He still looked brooding and not terribly happy. I noticed he'd shaved, even combed his hair. He looked completely normal now, not like the insane madman he was. I may even venture an opinion to say he looked stunning. But wait, he insulted me on my looks. I retract that comment then. Holmes' bow tie was hanging limply, poorly tied and begging to be fixed.

"Well then," I said as I reached up and began retying the tie, "you seem to clean up quite nicely, Mr. Holmes. It always amazes me what a hot bath and some suds can do for a man."

"Yes, when this man cares for grooming he can change his very demeanor from raving mad man to badly behaved gentleman." Watson said as he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. I got the strange impression he was pleased by something. He seemed to be easily amused.

"Well, I might have to ask you to put on an air of a well behaved gentleman. We will be in the company of two fine ladies this evening."

"That's right, one of them being my wife and I would like to show her that you actually can be a good person." Watson added.

"It would seem that, yet again, fate is against me and my motives. When I finish, we shall meet you in the drawing room, as per etiquette." Holmes conceded.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, it really does make me happy to think that you are a decent man underneath your careless airs." I reached up on my tippy toes and kissed his now smooth cheek. Suddenly, realizing what I'd done, I froze. So did the other two. Make a run for it! I had to be sneaky but I passed of my little moment of frozen fright as a nod to Watson then exited the room.

Rounding the nearest corner, I pressed up against the wall. What just happened? I hadn't even thought about the urge, I just acted upon it. What was happening to me? Well, I guess I've never really thought about any of my actions before doing them, but I still gave them consideration. My brain is starting to crack. That must be it. I'm going insane. Well there's nothing I can do about that, so let's get on with the show.

Entering the drawing room I felt the lovely warmth from the fireplace. The two men were already there. Both stood up upon my entrance. I actually felt myself blush. It was kind of awkward at first but soon I fell into conversation with Watson about how his business was going. Holmes was walking around, poking and touching the antiques that were laid out around the room. He would add additional commentary every so often.

Soon my butler, Jones, entered and bowed to me. He was the old kindly butler of all those old stories and fairy tales, but I have to say he was much cooler. One night in the kitchen I caught him and a few other servants playing cards. It's nice to know my servants have a night life too.

"Baroness, a Mrs. Watson is here for the dinner."

"Mary," Watson said happily.

"Thank you, Jones. We shall be out to see her at once. Please let her in." I led Watson and Holmes out to the main hallway. Coming up from the front door was Mary Watson. Wow, for being five months along, she was looking pretty good. You know how people say that when a woman is pregnant she looks different, more healthy? Well, this much was true. There was a bright pinky tint to her skin and she seemed to almost… glow? Is that the right word? Well that's as best as I could get. Her olive green dress was a little roomy but other than that she looked about the same.

"Mary!" Watson descended the small flight of stairs that led to the front entry way. Holmes and I stayed at the top. You'd think from Watson's greeting they hadn't seen each other in ages. Quickly, he kissed her. I noticed that when he kissed her his hand rested, not on her waist, but on her middle. It was a sweet gesture that made me think. He really loves her. There is genuine love and affection between the two of them. And again came the twisting pain of want in my stomach. I had been deprived that privilege. I felt myself audibly sigh.

"Are you alright, Madame?" Holmes asked from beside me.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, it's just… they are so adorably in love its hard to mistake." I explained; staring as Watson helped his wife up the stairs.

"I knew it. You are a hopeless romantic masquerading as a stubborn pain in the-,"

"Mary!" I said cheerfully as I greeted her with a hug and the normal kisses on each cheek.

"How are you?" She asked me.

"How am I? That is trivial in comparison to you. How are you? I heard the wonderful news. You have never looked more stunning, I might add." Mary blushed.

"Thank you, Baroness-,"

"How many times must I ask you to call me Olivia?" I asked. This woman seemed the closest thing I had to a girlfriend, so by golly I was going to treat her as such.

"Thank you, Olivia. You really are quite a generous host. When I read the letter, hearing of that unfortunate accident with the horse and the mud I was grateful you found something decent for my John to wear." Mary leaned up against Watson, who put his arm around her protectively. Excuse me while I put on my whiny teenager voice. Ahem. Why can't I have that? I am sick and tired of being the smart alec chic who doesn't follow the order and just goes along with everything. I want a guy to hold me in his arms, tell me he loves me and kiss me. Jamison! I could kill you right now. Ahem. End of rant.

"Yes, Mr. Watson and Mr. Holmes both cleaned up nicely don't you think?" I asked.

"Indeed!" Mary agreed.

"Ahem, Baroness? Dinner is served in the dining room." Jones announced.

Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The first two courses were lovely and the conversation along with it. Then we had the third course. After receiving the food, a small lapse in conversation occurred. I decided to strike up a new conversation.

"So, Mary, how did you and Watson meet?" I asked.

"Well, its actually a dizzyingly complicated story."

"Then, by all means, do tell." Holmes encouraged, swigging his fourth full glass of wine.

"Why don't you tell? You're much better at this than I." Mary asked Watson.

"Alright then. Well, about three years ago I was at a clinic when in walks one of the nurses with a young boy in her arms accompanied by none other than Mary. The young boy had snuffed a bead up his nose. I quickly operated and got the bead out and let the put the child to sleep for a bit. While he was sleeping I asked Mary is she was her son and she said no, it was her charge. She was only a governess. I was thrilled to find her unmarried. When I asked her about her relationships I found she had recently been through a broken engagement. From that day forward I knew that I must win her heart in order to be happy in life. It still took her a year to warm up to me, but finally she agreed to be my wife." He took her hand and kissed it as he stared into her eyes. She smiled and blushed.

"It was quite an ordeal, but it turned out for the best for both of us." She said.

"I really am not worthy to even be wed to this creature." Watson added.

"Look at you two. The false modesty, the ingratiating banter, is there any truth to anything either of you have said?" Holmes asked. My jaw dropped.

"Holmes!"

"I beg your pardon?" Mary asked. Watson was quiet, his eyes staring daggers into Holmes.

"Well, all this poetry and word of mouth in the name of love. I believe it to be the death of love."

"Expressive word is always regarded as the foundation of love. Without communicating the emotions, what have we?" I asked. Holmes turned on me. Oh, he was so drunk.

"I am simply saying that those expressions are empty words, promises that are not intended to be kept. To me, a love should be shown physically." Easy, tiger. Don't go too far. "Actions are needed to back up those words of affection."

"Are you saying love should be proved?" I asked.

"In a manner yes. A man should show with the holding of hands or occasional kiss, the physical touch of skin on skin is one of the greatest gifts. Men are given the privilege to bestow such actions on a beautiful woman."

"Even if the woman is bearable and not of great interest?" I asked. Everyone went quiet suddenly. Holmes looked positively stunned.

Mary began to sniffle and suddenly there were real tears coming down her face. She got up and left the table. Great. Way to go, Holmes.

"She's been doing this a lot lately. Ever since she told me about it she's been easily upset. I'd better go help her. Mary…" Watson got up and put his napkin back on his chair. That left Holmes and I alone. After that burn, I didn't know quite how to follow it up. Apparently he didn't either. I couldn't help but feel a little guilty for bringing it up, but he had totally deserved it.

"So… how much did you hear?" He finally asked. I couldn't bring myself to look at him.

"Enough." Another small silence began to strangle us. I couldn't take it anymore.

"I apologi-," He said the exact same thing at the exact same time. Again, silence. I couldn't quite get past the awkwardness of the situation.

"So, who is Adler? Someone who you are pursuing?" I asked.

"Was," Holmes said simply.

"What happened?" I asked. When he finally looked up I saw a new emotion in his eyes: regret. "Forgive me," I amended, "I'm just curious." We were quiet for another little bit.

"Irene, her name was Irene. We'd been enemies for sometime." That's confusing, but ok. "She'd gotten involved in something I told her not to." Holmes stood up and just stood there, motionless. "I tried to stop her but, she went through with it. There was an unfortunate explosion. When I got there, I found her but she was nearly dead. She died in my arms. I… I was going to propose the next day." Holmes stood resolutely. Oh my word, the man had been burned, bitten, stung, and ripped by love. I couldn't think of any comforting words, nothing of this magnitude. Slowly I got up and approached him. Wrapping my arms around him I gave him the most comforting embrace I could muster. He soon wrapped his own arms about me. I rested my head on his shoulder and breathed slowly. I could tell he needed to get that off his chest but didn't know how.

A moment passed between us. It wasn't anything romantic or villainous. I just felt like we had come to an understanding. I think it was safe to say that we could officially be friends.

We sat back down to our dinner to finish up and call for dessert. Suddenly, we were thick as thieves, talking and conversing as if we'd been in each other's confidences for years. Watson walked back in with Mary at his side. She seemed to have recovered nicely.

"Do forgive me. Being and expectant mother has its disadvantages." Mary excused herself.

"It's perfectly understandable. I have scolded Mr. Holmes here and he has promised to be a good boy from now on, won't you?" I asked condescendingly.

"Yes, please forgive me, Mary. I think I have had a little too much wine. For tonight at least." Watson just looked at me, then to Holmes, then back at me. A look crossed his face, a look of sheer confusion and puzzlement. Watson mouthed something to me.

"What did you do?" He said silently. I shrugged innocently and put on an ignorant I-don't-know-what-you-are-talking-about look. I could tell he was truly shocked. It was true; Holmes had made a complete turn-around from his earlier self. I had to admit I was pretty surprised as well. What shocked me was that he was amiable the rest of the dinner. Dessert came around and we dug into the chocolate pie with something else in it that I don't really know how to say.

"The Baron had family, I presume?" Holmes asked. Ha, luckily in the past week I had begun to Flicker (that's what I'm going to call it when the memories resurface) on the Baron's extended family.

"Yes, they all live in Spain. His father and youngest brother still live in the same place I believe. Why do you ask?"

"Well, after looking at the case photographs I would like some psychological analysis as well. His family would be a good start."

"Well, it would be hard to correspond, they speak Spanish and are reluctant to translate to English. It would mean physically going to Spain where we can talk to them face to face."

"Then we're going to Spain," Holmes announced jovially.

"Not we," Watson corrected.

"I beg your pardon?" Holmes stopped.

"I am not going to go gallivanting off any more." Watson said sternly. Tenderly, he drew closer to Mary, put one arm around her and put the other hand on her middle. "I have decided that I am going to stay with Mary and help raise our child together. No more horse play. Its time I settled down and really got down to brass tacks in this marriage." Mary glowed with appreciation for her husband. Holmes just lifted his glass to his lips.

"It's obvious you've already done that." He muttered into his wine. I kicked him under the table. I won't have him insulting my friend that way.

"What was that?" Watson asked.

"Nothing," I said quickly. "Holmes was just muttering that he wouldn't have his old partner with him to see him through." Watson bought this and nodded. "But, I already have a solution for this." Here goes nothing. I took a deep breath.

"Holmes, you won't be going alone." I began, his head lifted up to look at me. "Say hello to your newest partner." Holmes was quiet for a moment. Then he started to snicker. Along with Watson. I looked to Mary and we just exchanged confused glances.

"Forgive me, but I did not mean to be humorous." I said with a touch of venom. Holmes stopped laughing.

"You're not being serious?" He asked.

"Why ever would I not be? I can be just as good as Watson, not to mention I have contacts in Spain and am fluent in Spanish." I'd discovered this little tidbit in the middle of week three when I had accidentally started asking for things in Spanish.

"But-," Holmes tried to object.

"No buts about this. Baron Antonio, Alejandro's brother, will only speak English around me. Without me you'd have to bring an interpreter along anyway. If you still say know I will be there anyway. You can not escape this. I am coming, with or without you." Watson had stopped snickering and was now nodding in agreement.

"Well-," Holmes started to reject again.

"Holmes, you're beat, admit it. Just take the girl along with you." Watson prodded.

"Fine then. _We_ shall go to Spain." I smiled, satisfied.

"Perfect, there will be a social gathering there sometime next week. I wasn't planning on attending but I suppose we could make do." Holmes conceded and just nodded to me. It appears that in order to get anywhere with Holmes you have to be a pain in the…

I filled my glass with the rich red wine. Funnily enough, the song Red, Red, Wine by Bob Marley suddenly popped in my head and I couldn't get it out. I held my glass high for a toast.

"To Spain." I said fiercely. Everyone else raised their glasses and chorused,

"To Spain."


	2. Chapter 2: Life of Spain

**Hey guys, sorry about the delay on this next part. I write out of order and I couldn't come up with a good follow up scene until recently. I have a ton more on the way so have fun with this. Disclaimer: Holmes, Watson, and Mary are not mine, but the rest are of my own make and model. Well, enjoy it!**

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**Part 2**

"I shall return in a week." I pulled my travel gloves on as I prepared to step out of the carriage. "Do keep an eye on the house for me?" Jones sat across from me and nodded his acknowledgement.

"Will do, milady. Enjoy your trip. Be safe." He counseled as I stepped out of the carriage.

"When am I ever not?" I teased. Turning around I set my eye on the great train station. Adventure, the place reeked of it. I was ready for anything. I had packed my little bags and waited anxiously just for this moment all morning.

Waving good bye to the carriage, I turned to find a page boy taking my trunk up to the platform. The billowing steam filled the place with an eerie yet electrified feeling. I could almost see Harry Potter pushing his cart along through the throngs of people. I was ready, ready to face anything that came my way.

I began to climb the steps when a man took my hand and helped me up. It was a good thing too, or else I would have totally biffed it in the ridiculous dress I was wearing. I turned to look at my little helper. A pair of copper brown eyes stared back at me. I was taken aback for a moment. My astonishment must have shown on my face, for the man laughed and bowed his head slightly.

"Forgive me," he said as he brushed his chocolate brown locks from his eyes, "I have this terrible thing called chivalry. My father always said, 'Son, you _will_ escort a lady whenever there is a door, stairs, or it is past dark.' Old habits die hard you know." He stepped up and followed me into the car. Silently, his hands found the small suitcase I was carrying and began to carry it for me.

"In that case, I must give my thanks to your father. For had he not taught you these morals, I might very well be sprawled out on the platform, very much exposed and quite embarrassed. Thank you very much, Mr…" I fished for a name. He set the bag down next to a particularly comfortable seat in the first class. Standing up, I saw a mischievous twinkle in those strange eyes.

"Call me Luck." Oh. Well, that gets me no where. Who is this guy? I am intrigued.

"If I don't know your name, how am I to trust you?" I asked, surprised by the flirtatious tone in my voice. A flutter of darkness swept over his face like a cloud across the Sahara; quick as it appeared, it was gone. He stepped closer to me though.

"You don't. Don't trust anyone, Baroness. Especially not me." He whispered. With that he turned on his heel and walked back to the door. With a quick look back, he winked at my staring self, then exited the train entirely. I let out the breath I didn't even know I had been holding. Who was that guy? What did he mean 'trust no one'? And why was my heart fluttering all of a sudden?

"My lady,"

"AH!" I jumped a mile high, startled. I saw the scruffy faced Holmes standing there with almost a bored look adorning his features. I let out my gasp.

"Holmes, its just you."

"Its… er… quite the, uh, accommodations you have here." I almost couldn't compute what he was saying.

"W-what? Oh, oh, yes, the train company did a lot of business with the Baron. They give me fair accommodations should I have the desire to travel." I explained.

"Lovely." Holmes plopped down a small briefcase sized bag next to a seat and sat down himself.

"So, uh," I tried to bridge the awkward silence that had fallen, "did you load up your trunk?"

"Don't have one." He replied simply as he pulled the decanter from the table next to him and poured himself a generous glass of the amber colored liquid.

"You don't have one. Upon my word, Holmes, is that bag there all you've brought?"

"Should I have brought anything else?" He asked as he brought his glass to his lips.

"Holmes, we will be going to a grand celebration for the House of Castillo. Did you at least bring a nice suit of some sort?"

"What's wrong with this one?" He asked indignantly.

"Urgh! You are impossible!" I took a deep breath and smoothed my skirt out, "No matter, I shall just buy one for you when we put in to Barcelona." Holmes simply shrugged and found a newspaper and began to read. This was going to be a long trip.

I pulled out a novel from my bag as I sat down. This one I was excited to read. The faded leather of the binding was probably once a deep red but now was more maroon. The spine's golden font spelled out a famous name. _The Count of Monte Cristo_, glittered faintly in the sunlight passing through the train windows. I remember seeing the movie a long time ago, which is actually the future. I hate time paradoxes. This proved to be an interesting read.

"Who was he?" Holmes suddenly asked without looking up from his paper, twenty minutes into our ride.

"Who?" I asked, wondering if he was inquiring into my book.

"The man who accompanied you onto this very train," He finally looked at me.

"Oh, uh, I don't know." I answered honestly. Holmes gave me a disbelieving look and I couldn't blame him.

"Cross my heart," I crossed my heart to get the point across, "I really have no idea. I've never met him before."

"Well did you at least learn his name?" Holmes asked.

"Well," I looked down at the hand _he_ had touched, "this is going to sound crazy. He told me to call him Luck."

"Luck?" Holmes repeated.

"Yes, Luck."

"Well then it seems your Luck has left you." Holmes grinned. I could almost hear the trombones doing their wa-wa-waaahhh sound for a bad joke. I rolled my eyes.

"Please. Spare me the stupid puns. That's what he told me and that's what I am telling you. And didn't your mother ever tell you it was rude to spy on others?"

"Oh," Holmes made a mock attrition, "spy is such a dirty word. Is it called spying when you are in fact a suspect in this case?"

"What?" I stood up. How could he be so bold? How dare he accuse me of killing the man I loved? "You dare accuse me of…" I suddenly realized there was an attendant staring at my outburst. I sat back down gracefully and picked up where I left off. In hisses and whispers I had to convey my feelings. "You dare accuse me of killing my own husband? To what ends would this bring me?"

"You could be the criminal mastermind in this room. Yet, no match for my psychological genius." My face fell into my palm. Only twenty minutes in and he's already bugging me. Why did I even invite him along? Well, technically, I invited myself.

"Here's what we'll do. I will stay out of your way if you stay out of mine, agreed?" I asked. I held out my hand for a handshake of truce. Holmes looked at it curiously then instead of taking it in a shake, he delicately pulled it to his lips and gave my fingers a gentle kiss.

"Agreed." I retracted into my chair and opened up my book again. Keeping my back to him, and he to me, I quite enjoyed losing myself in my reading.

After a quick train ride to the docks, we boarded a boat to Le Havre, France. I found out that this body was not used to being at sea. We weren't even technically at sea; we were on the English Channel. Regardless, I still lost all the contents of my stomach. Ughh, I've never been so miserable in my life…s, lives. That's confusing. I was grateful to be left to myself on the boat trip. Holmes found someway of entertaining himself for a few hours. As we put into Le Havre the sun had begun to set and it was time to retire to the hotel.

I walked up to the check in desk, or whatever they called it, and asked for a room. The attendant simply gave me a look of disgust and turned back to his work sorting keys and mail.

"Excuse me, I'd like a room." He ignored me. "A room?" I asked again. I hit the bell on the table a few times. It became clear to me that I was getting nowhere.

"Oh this is impossible!" I declared as I turned back to get my bags. Holmes put a hand on my shoulder.

"Wait a moment," He walked up to the desk and knocked on the polished red wood.

"Excusez moi?" He asked in perfect French and the man responded pleasantly with the something else. Two minutes later, Holmes handed me a key as he picked up my bags.

"Lovely man," He said nonchalantly. I couldn't help but stare in awe.

"Since when do you know French?" I asked.

"I had an overbearing aunt as a young boy. When my mother would send me to Auntie Luna's house I often would turn for the next door neighbors, a band of stowaway boys from Paris. Learned more French in two weeks there than any class could teach me."

"I must say, Mr. Holmes, you never cease to amaze me." I shook my head in disbelief. We ascended a large grand staircase and soon came to the room which I had been assigned. Holmes put my bag down in my room and I saw him to the door.

"Will you be requiring anything else, Madame?" Holmes asked, pretending to be some concierge. I couldn't help but giggle.

"Nothing else tonight, thank you. Thank you very much." I got on my tippy toes and kissed the top of his nose like a school boy.

"What was that for?" He asked.

"For not treating me like an animal that you seem to think all women are. I am glad you have kept your opinions to yourself. For that I thank you." Holmes didn't know quite how to respond to that.

"Then you are welcome. Good night, Baroness."

"Good night, Mr. Holmes." I shut the door as he left. Yep, there was a pair of besties in the making. Only problem is we can't stand each other. Oh well, it'll make the friendship interesting, to say the least.

The next day began the longest and most grueling part of our journey. We took a train from Le Havre to Toulouse. Over that train ride Holmes taught me how to balance a penny on my nose even in a moving car (I was bored okay? I can only read so much before I need to barf) and it seemed that every time that barrier that is usually between us flared up we'd back off of each other for a bit. It was a good arrangement. We kept each other company, yet we still were civil enough not to rip out the other's throat after an argument.

From Toulouse we crossed from France into Spain and went down into Barcelona. Here we finally got off trains. I can honestly say that before this trip I had been so excited to see a train and ride one. Now, I never want to see another steam locomotive again. Thank goodness for the generosity of my brother-in-law. He was sending a carriage to pick us up in Barcelona and take us the next thirty miles outside the city to the countryside estate. After our train arrived we had a few hours to kill before the carriage was to arrive so I did what I promised Holmes I would do: took him shopping.

"Would you hold still? No wonder Watson always seems tired after being with you. Just watching you fidget makes me tired." I complained as I tried to watch as he was fitted for a nice suit. The cute little old seamstress took the measurements just the same. She told me that now she had his measurements they had something that could fit him in stock. With blazing fast Spanish she also told me she had a dress she wanted me to see while Holmes tried on the tuxedo she'd fished out of hundreds of boxes.

"I'll be right back." I'd told Holmes. It made me kind of sad that I found so much hidden joy in seeing him so uncomfortable. The little lady, Alleyah, led me to the ladies section of the shop go look at the dressed.

"Now, what size are you?" She asked in Spanish. Uh… I have no clue.

"I don't really know. I'm sorry." I replied, in Spanish (ha ha, yeah, I'm bilingual)

"No matter, no matter, I will find something for you." She disappeared into a back door. I wandered through the many mannequins set up displaying the different dresses. The fashions ranged from the latest in Paris to the classical Spanish Rose. I absentmindedly ran my fingers over the soft white lace of a white, black, and red traditional Spanish dress. A movement caught my eye. Looking up I saw only more mannequins. There! Again, but this time I caught it. A man, hands in his pockets and a strange glint in his eye. I nearly gasped when I recognized the copper irises. He put his finger to his lips in a shushing manner. I became nearly entranced with his hypnotic stare. Those eyes only broke from me for a moment as he winked and then he was gone again.

Thirty minutes later, laden with bags and my purse a bit lighter, we exited the shop and began to wander the outside vendors as we made out way to the meeting spot with the carriage.

"Why do women glory in the art of buying?" Holmes asked. I laughed, not that it was funny but it funny coming from Holmes.

"You're the detective, Mr. Holmes. Why don't you tell me?" I asked as I stopped to smell some beautiful gardenias a woman was selling.

"Well, I can give you only my theories and conjectures, seeing as I am not a woman." Holmes offered.

"Tell me what you have." I paid the flower woman and took a flower, twirling it in my fingers.

"For one thing I think women find pleasure in hunting down dresses and shoes as much as men value hunting a bear or deer. The same hungry look always appears in the woman's eyes when ever she spots a desirable dress or clothing article." I shrugged. I guess he could be right, I mean I never was much for shopping but I do feel great when I find something pretty.

"Hmm, I guess your observations have proved to serve well. For I have noticed as well that you keep turning your eyes to the young shop girl on the street corner up there." I smiled smugly as I caught the astonished look flit across Holmes' face.

"Merely scoping out possible acquaintances. Much like your run in with Luck, back in the dress shop." Holmes pried. I stopped walking all together.

"You saw him too?"

"My dear, you are a possible target for murder. Do you think I will let you out of my sights while in my charge?"

"Your charge?" I asked indignantly. Who does he think he is? I was the one who came up with this trip. I can take care of myself. "Excuse me, but I believe I can go on from here on my own. It is _I_ who is charged with you."

"You are easily distracted; therefore I must keep you going." He pushed.

"Well, you are just suspicious of everything. Without me, you'd be off tailing some poor busboy because he picked a penny up off the ground." I spat back.

"You're headstrong and get in over your head."

"You touch everything!" I stepped toward him.

"You're vain!" He closed in, eyes blazing.

"You're conceited!" I pursed my lips and stared right back at him.

"You're ridiculous!" We both accused at the exact same time. That shut us up for a moment. I couldn't look at him, embarrassed at my outbreak and childish accusations.

"So," Holmes held out his free arm to me, "you want to go see if our carriage is here yet?" I took his arm.

"All right," We then strolled through the street vendors again, idle chatter between us. I was glad we couldn't stay mad at each other for long. I mean, how can you stay mad at someone who is certifiably insane?

Ten minutes later the carriage arrived at its designated spot. I spoke to the horseman in Spanish to make sure he was from Antonio. He was and we boarded. Holmes and I talked some more about England and its contents for the hour ride into the countryside. The rolling green hills of this part of Spain took my breath away.

"My word, Baroness, from your gawking you'd think you've never seen this place before." I spun around to face Holmes. There was a knowing look in his dark eyes.

"I haven't been here since… since…" I tried to make myself look like a grief stricken widow. It wasn't hard, I'd lived that before.

"Hmm, this trip will do you good, my dear. You might even become enjoyable company." He smiled. I slapped him playfully on the knee with my fan. I'd actually made good use of the fan. One: because it was quite warm here in mid May, and two: because Holmes had lit his pipe. Thank the heavens above this was an open windowed carriage. I still had issues with the smoke, quickly fanning it away from myself.

"You know, that thing can kill you." I pointed out.

"Why this old thing? It has been my constant companion for near twenty years." That's almost as old as me, well my old self. I was 29 back in 2009, here I'm not sure how old I am. I pegged Holmes at around 39 or 40 at least. Why was he so alluring then? Whoa, I did not just go there. Red light! Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. Stop it right now, Liv. This is too much.

Soon the grand home came into view. I had to gasp when I saw the beauty of the grounds. The finely manicured lawns were an electric green, which intensified the sandstone red color of the mansion. Let's just put it this way. 'Mansion' is an understatement. This looked more like a castle. I could almost hear the violins playing and the trumpets accompanying. The upper levels had beautiful terraces and balconies stretching out and overlooking the gardens. The beautiful mosaics adorned each window. Fountains in intricate designs decorated the front lawn and gave a beautiful water sound to the landscape. I couldn't think of a more picturesque place.

We pulled in and a few finely dressed servants helped me with my bags and my trunk was already taken care of. Holmes and I approached the front entrance where the doors suddenly swung open in a grand gesture. Through the gargantuan opening, a well dressed figure appeared, first walking then running down the steps to meet us.

"Bienvenidos a mi hermana!" The young man called. His hair was jet black and curled handsomely around his youthful features. Those eyes were the very same as the Baron's, sparkling sea blue with a tint of green in them.

"Antonio," I called back. Gathering up my skirts, I hurried up the steps to meet him on the landing. We embraced and I quickly kissed each of his cheeks. He was much taller than in the memories.

"You've grown!" I exclaimed in Spanish. Antonio only laughed and blushed.

"So have you. More beautiful every time I see you. If only my poor brother, God rest his soul, could see you now." He answered back. I blushed.

"It's so good to see you again. How long has it been since I last visited with you?" I asked, again in Spanish. Hey, I gotta capitalize on what I know.

"Three years, almost to the day. Your last visit was on my sixteenth birthday." He laughed. I thought about this. I put on a fake contemplative look.

"If it is almost to the day, then that means…"

"You guessed it, my nineteenth birthday celebration." So that's what this party was about. It hadn't come out and said it was a birthday, only a celebration for Baron Antonio. Well, bring on that birthday cake. Holmes had joined us by now.

"Oh, Antonio," I said in English, "This is my friend, Sherlock Holmes. He is a detective looking into Alejandro's death." Antonio held out his hand to Holmes.

"I thought it was all wrapped up?" He said in English too, his accent just as heavy as his older brother's. In my head I silently counted the years between the two. Let's see, the Baron was two years older than me when he died. I was twenty eight at the time. If he was thirty then, and Antonio was 18 (turning 19), then Alejandro was older by about 12 years, give or take a bit. It didn't surprise me. Alejandro was the oldest of four boys: he, Conrado, Felix, and Antonio was the youngest.

"Well, in any case, if you'll excuse the pun, Antonio Castillo at your service." Antonio bowed graciously from the waist.

"I just might take you up on that." Holmes said. Antonio looked back at me. Joy was bursting from his face.

"Come now, you must see my father. He's wanted to see his favorite daughter-in-law for some time now." He turned to lead us through the enormous doorway. I had to laugh.

"I'm his only daughter-in-law," Antonio looked back and gave me a sly smile.

"Not for long." My eyes widened.

"Felix or Conrado?" I asked. Antonio snickered.

"Both, well both are engaged at least. Wanted a double wedding, those two did."

"And what of the girls? Tell me honestly, dear Tony."

"Felix's fiancé is that of a fairytale princess, but not a penny to her name. Conrado's, however, well let's just say she makes a hard first impression. You see, Conrado is marrying an American."

"No, Conrado? He swore to marry that wealthy Princess of Aragon, didn't he? Wanted nothing to do with anyone from outside Spain," Antonio nodded.

"That is true, until she eloped with a musician and ran away to Paris."

"Oh, not the best of choices."

"No indeed. But this new girl, the American," he said that like it was a bad thing, "she is the Ambassador of the United States' daughter. I can't disagree completely though, she speaks fluent Spanish as well as twelve other languages."

"Sounds like they are getting what they always wanted." I answered.

"Mr. Holmes," Antonio addressed Holmes, "what is your opinion of marriage? Is it the folly it appears to be to me?" Before I could stop him Holmes had begun.

"Well, Baron, I went through the grueling process of watching a friend wed and to me I can not deny that the whole parade of a marriage is quite a farce." Great Holmes, just force your jaded beliefs onto this young, impressionable man. "I believe it is the women who make such a fuss out of the event. Why, if men were to have it their way a marriage would be a quick exchange of vows in front of a few witnesses and a priest and would take no more than twenty minutes."

"Oh Holmes, where's the fun in that?" I bumped him playfully. "No girl wants to get married in twenty minutes. Who's to say a single man wouldn't go through ten weddings in a day to ten separate girls?" Holmes was about to say something but I cut him off to turn to Antonio.

"Toni, dear young Toni, don't listen to this man. If you really are in love, marriage is the final step a love can take."

"I thought the final step was interco-," I gave Antonio a stern look, "Well, uh, never mind." Yep, he was a teenage boy alright.

We entered into a great hall of sorts and Antonio led us down a corridor and out to one of the indoor-outdoor sitting rooms. There, an older man sat looking over stacks of papers set out before him on the table.

"Padre," Antonio called in Spanish. The man looked up. His dark brown hair was pulled neatly to the back of his head with a fine combing. His face was framed with a well kept beard. I noticed his eyes were not the same as Antonio's or Alejandro's, they were a faded hazel color. The spark was unmistakable though.

"Antonio," The man got up. His massive frame once might have been lean and fearsome, but after years of a good life his round middle and broad shoulders evened him out. He kind of reminded me of Sallah, from those Indiana Jones movies, except Spanish instead of Egyptian. He held his arms out in a welcoming gesture.

"Chica!" He called to me.

"Papa," replied, hurrying up to embrace him. It felt good to be among family who cared about me. I couldn't stop beaming. We conversed in Spanish for a bit then I remembered Holmes.

"Papa, this is Sherlock Holmes. He is a detective." I introduced, bringing Holmes forward. "He is looking into the death of Alejandro."

"Ah," He said, holding out his hand.

"Holmes, this is my father in law, Baron Rafael Castillo."

"An honor, your Grace." Papa shook his hand then turned a sly smile to me.

"He is a handsome one," He stated in Spanish.

"Papa! No matchmaking please." I pleaded back. He let out a great laugh.

"But alas, he is British and I simply can not accept such a replacement for my son." Papa said teasingly.

"Never, Papa, he is only a friend. Inside this body is still a broken heart mourning for her love." I patted my chest where my heart should be, I've never actually looked to see if it was there or not. Papa smiled genuinely.

"So, are you both here for the celebration?" Papa asked in English albeit with one of the thickest accents.

"You know English?" I asked in disbelief.

"I've joined the future. Antonio pleaded with me for months, eventually I conceded." Papa replied, he turned back to Holmes. "Mr. Holmes, I do hope you intend to stay along with my darling daughter-in-law."

"Oh yes please!" Antonio added. "This year's celebration will be the talk of the century!" He boasted. Must be quite the planning affair.

"Hush, Antonio. Forgive my son's modesty," Papa said sarcastically, "he is very excited. For our celebration we have chosen to make it Carnaval de la Lune, much like Carnival in Rome but with a few Spanish improvements." Papa was definitely patriotic to a fault.

"But enough about that. That is the future, Alejandro, God grant him peace, is of the past, and you my dear are the present." Papa made grand gestures all around then ended with his hands on my shoulders. "Come, my servants shall show you our finest rooms." He put his arm around me and led me down the corridor again to the main entrance. Here was a man who I could see being my father. Why couldn't I have known my own?

"My dear, I hope you brought a dress fit for Carnival." Papa stated in Spanish as we left Holmes in his private suite. To be quite honest, I hadn't even thought of that. I'd bought a nice one, but I don't think it would be fit for Carnaval de la Lune tomorrow evening.

"I regret, Papa, that what I have brought may not be suitable." I said guiltily.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Papa said mysteriously. Looking at him I saw a new sparkle in his hazel eyes.

"Come again?" I asked. Papa smiled broadly.

"Come with me." He whispered excitedly. We ended up in the master suite. And when I say 'master' that would be an understatement. More like 'emperor' suite. He led me into what was the closet but more like a private storage unit. Turning on the gas lamps, the room suddenly filled with a warm glow. Papa seemed to know exactly where to go.

Near the back, on the wall in fact, was large wooden trunk. The light colored wood was a marbled mixture between yellow-gold and honey. Gingerly, he lifted the lid. I watched from the doorway, slightly mesmerized. He motioned for me to join him at the trunk. Peeking inside I couldn't hold in my gasp. Beautiful brocades, sensual satins, and sweet scented silks were all folded neatly within the trunk. Papa dug around a bit, he was gentle though, as if he were trying not to disturb the trunk's peace.

"Ah, here we are," He delicately pulled out something blood red and white out. The smell of the awaiting fabric was nearly intoxicating, perfumed from the times of old.

"What is this?" I breathed the question as he held the dress out to me.

"It was Alejandro's mother's. I had hoped one day for a daughter of mine to wear it, but alas I was gifted with only sons. However, I think of you as the closest thing." I reached out my hand to feel it, but hesitated in fear of distrust. "Go ahead," he coaxed gently, "Touch it." I gently laid my fingers on the red taffeta. Beautiful white and gold accents peeked through the miles of red.

"It's magnificent." I sighed, thinking that tomorrow I would have the chance to wear the thing. Oh it was a good thought.

"It is in the like of a phoenix," he showed me the flaming feathers that adorned the hem of the skirt. "And it comes with…" He trailed off as he reached back into one of the racks of clothing. With a satisfied grunt his hand reemerged carrying something. "With this," It was a beautifully crafted mask, a deep gold fading into red. Giant feathers poked up from one side. What kind of a bird has two foot long curly feathers and is scarlet red? That made me think for a moment. Ah, who cares? This thing is gorgeous; I don't care where it came from.

"You really trust me to wear this? I cannot accept this." Papa held up his hand to silence me.

"I insist, you will wear it tomorrow. Rita!" He called out to the hallway. A chamber maid entered and curtsied politely. Papa handed the dress over.

"Have this cleaned and ready for tomorrow night. Also, what time will dinner be served tonight?"

"In one hour, sir," She said humbly.

"Good, good," Papa stroked his thick curly beard. "That'll give you time to freshen up after your journey." He nodded to me then sent the maid off.

Before exiting the Emperor suite I had a burning question on my mind, but I could not bring myself to ask it.

"Is something troubling you, my dear?" Papa asked.

"Oh, no, no, well..."

"Speak your mind."

"Very well, I must say first that I am so grateful for your hospitality. You've been more than generous already."

"I feel a contradiction coming." He said thoughtfully. I laughed.

"Papa knows best. Here goes, why are you still so wonderful to me? I mean no offense." I looked at Papa who was now staring off into the distance. Oh no, I blew it. Dang it, why can't I keep my stupid tongue in my empty head?

"You're the last that I have of Alejandro." Papa murmured quietly. I thought on this. "He never loved anyone like you. When he first brought you home the two of you seemed the farthest thing from happy. Little less than a month later, Alejandro never looked as happy as when his mother was alive. You became a part of him." He reached out and put a hand on my shoulder to stop our walk. I felt myself blink many times, the stinging sensation growing. I couldn't hold back the tears, though I fought valiantly for my pride.

"He became part of me." I choked out. Papa reached his hand out to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

"Hush," I finally broke. I hurled myself into Papa, trying to drown myself in distractions. We stood in each other's embrace for a while. He was gracious and let me cry. How did he do it? How did he live with the truth that his son was murdered? Right now, I'm a bit more worried about me. I'm losing myself over a man I have never met. Yes, I have. No, I really haven't. Have I? My brain is far too taxed for this. Taxed? Oh no…

About half an hour later I found myself in front of the mirror in my suite. I had successfully stripped myself of my corset all by myself, all to find I needed to put it back on in order to get into the dress I had just bought in Barcelona. As I laced my mind wandered far and wide over a vast expanse of two sets of memories. A terrifying truth struck me. I was having difficulty dividing my, Liv's, memories from my, Olivia's, memories. I felt myself strive harder to find the memories as I pulled tighter on my laces. The end result was me flopping down on the bed, out of breath and finding it hard to draw breath. What's happening to me?

I looked out the window, seeing the grand expanse of the gardens laid out before me. It sparked something and I Flickered. That's what I am going to call it when I suddenly see the flashes of memory, or flickers of memory. Suddenly, I wasn't alone. I stood by the window but I knew someone was there behind me. The air was cooler, closer to autumn weather. The breeze was fresh and smelled of the lovely Spanish Roses. I felt myself upset about something, but I couldn't remember what. Leaning against the window, my thoughts swirled.

"Querido," He murmured quietly. I simply seethed, "I didn't mean to upset you." A deep voice said in Spanish. I still just kept to myself by the window.

"I just want you to know that if something _were_ to happen to me… I want you to know something. Not that anything will happen, but as a precaution. Will you please listen to me?" He asked.

"What do you think I have been doing the duration of our marriage?" I said solemnly. The Baron however snorted and I heard footsteps approach me from behind. Suddenly there was a hand on my waist, gently urging me to turn towards him. I did, even if reluctantly.

"Olivia," He murmured as he pulled me closer and held up a small key attached to a strange ribbon with writing on it. "This is the key to your help, should there ever arise a time when I'm not here. But make no mistake, I will not go willingly and I will not go without a fight." I looked up into his eyes.

"Do you swear it?"

"I do so swear." And he leaned down and kissed me tenderly. I couldn't help but kiss back, how could I stay mad now? As we kissed I felt him press the key down the front of my brassiere. I broke away and looked at him slyly.

"Careful, it would seem as though you were taking advantage of someone." I said coyly.

"That was the plan." He said with a wolfish grin. I placed his hands around me again.

"It's a good thing I am your wife." I whispered as I kissed his neck. He was soon unlacing my dress. I loved this man. Nothing could change that

The memory faded and I thought then of the key. The key. Where had that thing gone? Walking slowly I followed where my feet took me, not fighting the urge. I looked where I was going and came to a huge chest of drawers. For a moment I panicked, wondering which one it was. Suddenly my hand knew what it was doing and opened up one of the small uppermost drawers. My heart began to beat wildly as my anticipation grew. Finally, I looked inside, ready to be astounded. What could all this mean? The suspense was killing me.

Nothing.

A big fat nothing, that's what was waiting for me inside. All there was were a few dusty papers and a flat wooden bottom. Feeling around inside, I searched for the key. Nothing. Frustrated, I pounded my fist into the drawer. How could I have been so stupid? Thinking I would remember it just from muscle memory. I felt as if I'd been made a fool of, but there was no one around. Wait, hold on a sec. I pounded the bottom of the drawer again. It rattled in a funny way, as if there was a metal knob ringing out after being struck. All the knobs, however, were crafted from the same wood as the drawers. Could it be? No, that would be too easy. Pirates of the Caribbean flooded back to me and I had an idea.

Gingerly, I pulled the papers out from the drawer and made sure it was completely empty. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. Don't expect anything, this all could be nothing. I was setting myself up for a failure, just in case. I was sorely mistaken though. As I pressed down on the back like Elizabeth did in the movie, the front popped up like a see saw. Faint twilight light twinkled in through the window and fell upon the inside of the drawer. The twinkling made something inside the dark void sparkle. My curiosity is going to kill me one day. Reaching in, not caring about the cob webs and dust bunnies, I wrapped my fingers around a small metal object. Attached to a ribbon. Smiling, I pulled it out and righted the drawer. Slowly, I opened my fist to look at my prize. Tarnished by age, but shiny from care, a small brass key laid there, defeated, in my palm. Attached to the exquisitely intricate design on top was a ribbon with words on it. I'd found it, I'd found the key to how to deal with the death of Alejandro, or whatever he preferred calling it.

As it dangled before me there was a knock at the door. Startled, I shoved the key down my corset.

"Baroness?" It was Holmes.

"Yes?" I answered as I made a mad dash over to the bed where my robe lay. I was decent, by stripper standards. Quickly, I pulled it over me as Holmes walked through the door.

"Oh," that was all he said when he saw me, "Perhaps I should come back when you are finished?"

"You're in here now; you might as well stay and finish telling me what you want." I said as I pulled out the dress box I had placed the dress back in while I re-laced myself. Holmes shrugged and made his way over to one of the overstuffed chairs in the faux parlor on one end of the suite.

"I wanted to ask you something." Holmes said as he lit up his pipe.

"I'm waiting to give answers." I replied. Tenderly, I pulled the dress out and held it up to me in the mirror.

"What do you know of the Maria conspiracy?" I thought for a moment, wracked my brain for anything.

"Nothing, not a thing." I called back over my shoulder. The standing screen in the corner came in great use as I could finish dressing and still talk to Holmes. I dragged my great dress along as I disappeared behind it. "You wouldn't mind filling me in on the story, would you?" I called.

"Even I do not know the whole story. I may ask your relations if they know of anything." What? So he's not going to fill me in? I'm confused. We were quiet for a moment, only the rustling of me sucking myself into the dress making any noise.

"Baroness? You wouldn't have remembered any words that could go to that puzzle box, would you?" He asked.

"No, not-," Suddenly I remembered the key that was sitting on my chest. I had the strangest urge not to tell Holmes about it. Subconsciously, my hand hovered where I had first dropped it in. I decided to keep my own little secret for just a little longer. "No, nothing yet. I'm sorry."

"Hmm, pity." He said thoughtfully. Did he know already? Was I that bad of a liar? I could never tell with him.

I finished strapping on my dress. The crimson bodice gave way to black lace sleeves that fell off my shoulders and rested gently around my biceps. The skirt was a brilliant white with inky black edges that brushed the ground when I walked. Pushing the screen back, I waltzed out into the room and made a particularly girlish twirl as I approached Holmes. He just stared the giant skirt as it settled down again.

"What do you think of the dress? The shop keeper gave me an excellent price for it." I pulled out my fan and put on a flirtatious air.

"It is magnificent and elegant, however, in my opinion, gaudy." Oh, he would say that. I just rolled my eyes and sat down at the small vanity and began brushing out my curls.

"I am going to ignore that comment and pretend it never existed. Not even your insults can sully this evening." I scoffed with a bit of a tease. Holmes stood to leave but then looked back at me in the mirror.

"That was my opinion of the dress. You, on the contrary, look like a vision dreamt from the pen of Shelley himself." Stunned, I sat open mouthed staring at his reflection. He shrugged then turned to leave again. I turned around so I could actually look at him, not just the reflection.

"Thank you," I finally managed. Holmes just turned and gave me a courteous nod.

"Milady," Turning back to the mirror I watched his back go through the door. That left me alone with nothing but my now raging thoughts. I began to feel a slight twang of guilt as I thought of the secret I carried in my corset. Slowly retrieving it, I held it carefully out in front of me. What did it go to? How was it supposed to help? I couldn't remember which frustrated me even more. After sitting a few moments and just staring, I finally decided to do something other than debate and ogle at it. I pulled out an extra long gold chain and looped it through the key. Placing it around my neck, I tucked it into the corset right below my heart. As I stared at my reflection I was hit with the realization that my act of wearing the key, keeping it next to my heart, hiding the key, modeled exactly what I had done metaphorically. The key that coldly pressed up against my skin was exactly like the key to my heart.


End file.
